


lay us down

by Tonight_At_Noon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Like last time, Road Trips, and baby there is only one room at the inn, it just means no aliens, loosely inspired by the opening of when harry met sally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonight_At_Noon/pseuds/Tonight_At_Noon
Summary: Home seems far away when you're stuck with someone you don't like in a room with only one bed.





	1. we're

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. This is a thing now. Me writing things for which I have no explanation. 
> 
> Enjoy.

*** * ***

_ whether near or far _

_ i am always yours _

_ any change in time _

_ we are young again _

** * * * **

Darcy laughed at the woman behind the desk. A deep, hopeful laugh. Surely, she was kidding. 

The woman—Martha, according to her name tag—did not smile. 

Darcy stopped laughing. “You’re being serious?” she said. 

“Yes.” 

“There’s only one room?” Darcy clarified. Martha nodded. “And it’s got only one bed?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like the room or not?” Martha sounded exhausted. Which made sense. It was nearly 2:00 in the morning. And Martha looked to be about 80 years old, with greying hair and veiny under eyes. A woman her age should have been in bed at least seven hours ago.

Darcy was exhausted too. She had just been driving for six and a half hours straight. Which she could usually handle, except instead of leaving Chicago at 8:00 a.m. like they had originally planned, they left at 8:00 p.m. A whole fucking twelve hours later than the decided upon time.

She needed to sleep before heading back on the road. But she couldn’t— _could not_ —spend the night in the same bed as Bucky Barnes. 

She would rather drive the next five hours on no sleep and potentially die in a fiery car crash than share a bed with Bucky Barnes.

Maybe that was a tad dramatic, but Darcy was not known for her serenity in times of crisis. 

“Are there any other motels near here?” Darcy asked, her voice rising in pitch. 

Martha shook her head. “Sorry, ma’am. We’re all there is for the next fifty miles.”

Of course they were. Of course there was nothing else. This was just Darcy’s luck.

She just wanted to get home to DC.

“What’s the prognosis?” 

Darcy turned slowly, glowering at the tall demonic creature backlit by creepy orange lights in the ancient, rustic motel lobby. His smile—he was always smiling, always so fucking happy—slipped off his face. He straightened, raising an eyebrow.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“No,” Darcy seethed. “There’s only one room. With one bed.”

“Oh. Are they sure?” Bucky stepped forward, sidling next to Darcy. He put that smile back on. No. This one was different. It was his _charming_ smile. The one he used when he wanted something. 

Darcy stepped to the side. She wouldn’t mind watching Bucky strike out with an 80 year-old. 

Bucky bent down a little and squinted at Martha’s name tag. “Martha,” he said, grinning. He blinked his blue eyes at her. “Martha, is there any chance there’s another room available for my friend and I?” 

“My friend and me,” Darcy corrected automatically. 

“This isn’t a session. You’re not getting paid to fix my grammar,” Bucky said, his smile staling briefly. In a second, his cheeks were fully rounded again. He chuckled—like a prick, because only pricks _chuckled_ —and restated his question. “Is there any chance there’s another room available for _my friend and me_ , Martha?”

Martha didn’t even check. She just said, “No. Why can’t you two share? You part of some crazy religion that’ll stone you if you spend the night with each other?” 

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. Martha had spunk. 

Bucky laughed out loud like he had heard the funniest joke. “Not in the slightest,” he said brightly. “We just don’t like each other.”

Martha looked between the two of them. Her thin mouth moved to a straight line. “Then why’re you in the middle of Pennsylvania together at two o’clock in the morning?”

“It’s a long story—” Bucky started saying.

“I got time,” Martha said. 

Bucky twisted his head towards Darcy as if looking for help, but she only offered him an exasperated shrug.

Refocusing his attention on Martha, Bucky smiled again. Darcy noticed how tight this one was. His _done_ smile. As in,  _i'm done being charming_. “It’s winter break. We’re both from the DC area. We also both attend the University of Chicago. We’re together because it’s cheaper and easier to travel as a pair than as separate units. We’re just trying to get home, Martha.”

“Cute story,” Martha said, and both Darcy and Bucky were ready to tell her how absolutely _not_ cute it was, but then Martha said, “There’s still only one room. Take it or leave it.”

In the creaking elevator two minutes later, Bucky re-shouldered his suitcase and leaned against the mirrored wall. “I really thought I had her,” he said.

“What, you thought she was gonna pull a hidden room out of her ass and offer it to us?” 

“Touchy.”

Darcy groaned. “Of course I’m touchy. I’m tired. It’s late.” She turned to Bucky and jammed her finger into his stomach. “I just drove for almost seven hours because you forgot to mention the tiny little detail that you can’t fucking drive stick!” 

“Ow.” Bucky rubbed the spot where Darcy had attacked him. He lifted his shirt and pointed to a red spot on one of his many abs. “That’s gonna bruise."

Darcy glared at him. “Good.” 

The elevator dinged. The doors opened, revealing to the pair a long, dark, green and red hallway reminiscent of something out of a Stephen King novel. Bucky stepped out first, his fingers clutching tight to the single room key Martha gave them. Following close behind, Darcy kept her eyes peeled for any sign of creepy dolls or messages written on the walls in blood. 

They reached their door unscathed. Inside, it looked like any other motel room. Only somehow more rundown. At the far end of the room was a window hidden by wrinkled, stained white curtains. There was a box television atop a chest of drawers. A bathroom with a mouldy tub. A minuscule desk with a hundred year old telephone and a writing pad.

It smelled of  _old_. 

And, in the centre of it all, a single queen sized bed. 

Bucky and Darcy tossed their bags inside the doorway and stood at the foot of the bed, surveying their surroundings. 

There was no room for one of them to sleep on the floor. Even her, and she was barely over five foot. 

“This is all your fault,” she said, leaning against the chest of drawers. She rubbed her eyes. “All your fault.”

“How is this my fault?”

Darcy’s head shot up. “How? _How_? We left _twelve hours_ late because of you. If we had hit the road at eight in the _morning_ , we would be in DC already,” she fumed. She ran her hands through her tangled hair. She needed a haircut. “And what was that other thing? Oh, yeah. Stick. Fucking. Shift.” 

She expected Bucky to fire back. He always did. They had known each other for three years now. She was his writing tutor and she quickly learned how well they played this back-and-forth. 

But he was silent. No smile. Not even a hint of light in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. 

“You’re sorry?” Darcy said. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making us late. I’m sorry for not telling you I couldn’t drive manual. And I’m sorry the only motel we could find was conveniently all out of spare rooms.” He mimicked her and glided his thick hands through his hair. He needed a cut too. The strands brushed against his broad shoulders. 

She almost said something. His name was beating the tip of her tongue. But Bucky Barnes had never looked deflated, like the helium that made him so hyper and chipper had been sucked out of him, and Darcy didn’t know what the protocol was for this situation. 

Even when he was struggling to understand the changes she made to his papers—really struggling, reminding her that dyslexia was a real issue for people—his face never got so downturned. 

In the end, she didn’t have to say anything. 

Bucky straightened and pointed to the bed, a feeble smile forcing apart his lips. “Which side of the bed do you want?” 

She went with the side farthest away from the door. Safer that way. If Jack Nicholson were to barge in, he would go at Bucky with the axe first, giving Darcy enough time to leap out the window.

They got ready for bed in silence. She used the bathroom first, almost flying through the ceiling when she found a giant spider camped out under the mirror above the sink. She changed quickly and brushed her teeth.

Bucky was in and out of the bathroom in less than two minutes. She wanted to mention the spider, ask if he'd seen it, ask if he'd maybe either humanely remove it or viciously murder it for her, but he sat down on the bed heavily and she kept her mouth shut on the matter. 

Without a sound, she switched off the light and joined him—Bucky fucking Barnes acting really fucking weird—on the bed.

In the dark, her underneath the sheets, Bucky on top of them, the bed moved with his breaths. She focused on them—in and out, in and out—and slowly drifted to sleep.


	2. in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first chapter to this in one sitting near midnight. This follow-up took days to complete. Sorry for that. But I hope you like it, and thanks a million times over for the love.
> 
> Enjoy.

*** * ***

_in these coming years,_

_many things will change,_

_but the way i feel_

_will remain the same_

*** * ***

Someone was watching her. She could sense their eyes on her, scanning her body. Studying her.

Her skin crawled.

When she opened her eyes, she had no clue where she was. She breathed out through her nose and scanned the room, her surroundings slowly coming into focus as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She caught sight of the medieval television first and it all came flooding back to her.

Stick shift. Seven hours on the road. One room. One bed.

Bucky fucking Barnes acting really fucking weird.

Suddenly aware of the block of warmth beside her—God, when was the last time she shared a bed? She had forgotten how  _hot_ it got under the covers—Darcy, lying on her back, flicked her tired eyes up. Bucky was sitting with his back against the headboard, staring out towards the hideous lime green wallpaper. He looked odd from this angle. So stoic and still and  _angry_. But that wasn't right, because Bucky was never angry.

She felt like a little kid staring up at a marble statue chipped by the Romans. He barely moved, and if it wasn't for the occasional lift of his chest, she would have been convinced Medusa had snuck inside the room and turned him to stone.

Or that he was dead.

During their sessions, she somehow always managed to forget their stark differences. She was able to get inside his mind—for  _science_ , not for fun—and rewire it so he could see the issues with his writing. Then they worked together, finding ways to fix them. They had this connection that built itself up over the past three years. A mental bond, feeble and trivial though it was.

But that was gone now. She couldn't get a reading. It was like he had locked her out.

"Hey," she said. The statue came to life. Bucky abruptly glared down at her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. The words snaked out of his mouth and slapped her across the face.

Darcy, annoyed that she had been concerned, angry at Bucky for the stinging pain radiating across her cheeks, pulled up the covers over her shoulder, turned over and spat, "Fine, asshole."

Facing the window, she tried controlling her breathing. Bucky made her  _so mad_  a lot of the time, but it was always because he was such an annoying, flirtatious prick. He cracked inappropriate jokes. He played with Darcy's hair when he was supposed to be working on his thesis statement. He abandoned her on their breaks to talk to Christine at the front desk and refused to come back when she called.

He was infuriating. But he wasn't the type to fume. Or snap. This was new, untouched territory, and Darcy did not like it.

The window lit up every few seconds. Red, glowing light flashed outside. Darcy knew it was the  _Vacancy_ sign. Martha should have switched it off. She and Bucky were living proof there were no vacancies at this shitty, Stanley Kubrick hotel.

It didn't take Darcy long to figure out that she wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon. Her brain was too busy trying to work through what Bucky's issue was.

She sat up and faced her reluctant bedmate. He didn't look at her. He didn't even register that she had moved. He just kept on staring straight ahead, his arms crossed, his hands balled tight.

"What's wrong?" she asked, knowing she should just leave it—their relationship was strictly tutor-student and didn't exist outside of the writing lab. This trip to DC didn't count for anything. But she was bad at letting things go. And when someone was upset enough to take their anger out on her, Darcy needed to get to the bottom of it.

"Nothing," he practically growled, lifting his shoulders aggressively.

"Okay," she said. She had to hold her breath for a moment to stop herself from growling right back. "Well, I don't believe you."

Bucky's head whipped to face her. His blue eyes glowed with fire. She watched his nostrils billow and his cheeks twitch.

He looked like he might explode.

Darcy braced for impact.

"You don't have to believe me," he said, and she was surprised by how eerily calm he sounded. "You don't have to do  _anything_  except get me back to Washington."

"I don't even have to do  _that_ ," she corrected. Her breathing was getting out of control. "I could leave you here at this awful hotel and drive my glorious stick shift all the way to DC without you."

"Would you do that?"

"You're pissing me off so much, I just might."

"Yeah, well you're pissing me off too, so maybe I should just get a taxi to grab me in the morning."

Darcy laughed humourlessly. "No taxi is going to come get you in Bumfuck, Pennsylvania and drive you five hours to DC."

"Then what do you propose we do?" he said, clenching and unclenching his fists. His face was pinched in irritation, and every few seconds, flashing neon red light made him look like some crazed demon taking a night off from hell.

She wasn't going to leave him behind. Darcy wasn't that heartless. No, she was. For most people. But Bucky . . . something was going on inside his head, a place to which she usually had access, and she couldn't abandon him.

"Go to sleep," she said, a wave of exhaustion pouring over her. "We go to sleep, wake up in a few hours, get in my car, and get back home."

"Works for me," Bucky said.

Nodding, Darcy laid back down. She faced the window again. Moments later, she heard Bucky slide down, and even though she was still confused, still wondering what the hell was wrong with him, her weariness won out.

She fell asleep seeing red.

*** * ***

Darcy tapped her fingers on the front desk as Martha helped check them out, trying not to notice how weird it was they were the only people on the main level. No one else was checking out. No one else was checking in. Nobody was in the cramped dining hall making use of the various breakfast foods. The old woman looked as tired as she had done at two o'clock in the morning, and Darcy wondered if she had gone to bed at all. She was still wearing the same clothes.

Lifting her head, Martha flicked her eyes behind Darcy. "What's the matter with your boyfriend?"

"Not my boyfriend," she said swiftly, startled by the epithet. It was a new one for them. Their peers in Chicago would never dream of putting them together.

Martha clicked a couple of keys and squinted at the computer. "Right, right. You guys hate each other. Well, anyway, what's wrong with him? He was so smiley and happy last night."

Covertly twisting her neck, Darcy caught a glimpse of Bucky standing in the same spot he had done eight hours ago. Except this morning he wasn't even trying to smile. His mouth was a limp line. His forehead was creased. He looked caught between frustration and gloom.

What  _was_  wrong?

No. It didn't matter. It wasn't her place to know. He had said as much last night.

"I don't know, Martha. Your guess is as good as mine."

Martha handed Darcy a sheet of paper to sign. "My guess," she croaked, her small eyes catching Darcy's, "is that he loves you, but he can't figure out how to let you know."

"What?" Darcy said. She nearly dropped the pen in her hand. "That is so far from the truth. So,  _so_  far."

"How do you know? You just said yourself that you're not sure what's the matter," Martha said snobbishly. As if she understood their situation better than Darcy. Which she didn't.

Finishing up her signature, Darcy, confused and slightly bewildered, handed back the paper. "I'd bet my life that you're wrong, Martha." She picked up her suitcase at her feet and flung it over her shoulder, already backing away. "We gotta get back on the road. See you . . . hopefully never."

She walked quickly, not quite catching what the woman said in response and not willing to stick around to hear it repeated. Approaching Bucky, she jerked her head as a signal they needed to leave. He pushed himself off of the wall and followed her out into the freezing Pennsylvania morning. The small, dirt parking lot was packed. Who all of these people were staying at the definitely-haunted hotel, Darcy did not care to know.

The pair found her elderly Accord and threw their things in the backseat without saying a word. They hadn't spoken since their fight. Could she even call it a fight? That word seemed too strong. Maybe it was more of a small verbal sparring match. Either way, the silence was stretching between them, creating a wide chasm she wasn't brave enough to try crossing.

Climbing inside the car, she started the engine and plugged her phone in. Her map app started up, as did the music they had been listening to when they arrived. It was loud and obnoxious—stuff to keep her awake. Switching to a quieter playlist, she punched in the address Bucky had given her yesterday and attached the phone to its snug mount. She didn't ask if her companion was ready, if he needed anything, she just put the car in reverse and joined the dead, long road.

Darcy felt extra cold every time she caught Bucky looking at her. He didn't say anything, because they weren't on speaking terms at the moment. He just  _stared_. Icily. Like she was the cause of whatever problem was plaguing his mind.

Half-an-hour into the second leg of the journey, she turned up the heat to almost full blast. Hot air blew her hair back, and she wished she had been smart enough to tie it up before leaving. The sound of the air drowned out her own thoughts. She looked ahead, gripped the wheel tighter, and drove, refusing to let an upset Bucky Barnes drag her to his morose level.

In the end, she didn't have to say anything. They were nearing DC. Had gone the nearly five hour journey without saying a single word to one another. Panic! at the Disco were playing, a pleasure of hers she hadn't managed to let go of even when her friends teased her for still liking them—or him, she supposed. It was that song about always. A broken love song. And in the middle of it— _lonely little life_ , _i could kid myself in thinking that i'm fine_ —Bucky said something.

Darcy wasn't sure at first, but then Bucky said another thing, and she reached for the heat, turning it down. She said, "What?" and kept her eyes on the road. Her heart, for some unknown reason, pounded, and she wanted to peek over at him, but she didn't.

"I said," he said, "that I'm sorry."

He sounded tired. More tired than Martha had done last night. He sounded utterly shattered.

Darcy didn't know how to respond—how did you respond when the happiest person you knew was so clearly  _not happy_? But that didn't matter. Bucky kept on going.

"Things aren't going my way at the moment, and it's starting to effect me more than I thought it would. But I shouldn't have been such a dick to you. You didn't deserve that," he said. "Darcy," he said, and she couldn't help it, she had to glance at him, "you help me a lot. With all of the school stuff, and now I guess with driving me back to DC. Thank you."

Darcy's heart quickened. She pressed on the clutch and changed gear as they ascended a hill, focusing on breathing in and out to slow her heart rate.

The sincerity in Bucky's voice, the kindness, was previously unknown to her. He said thanks when his papers got good grades, but it was always flippant. Hardly an actual profession of gratitude. This was different. It was real.

She liked it.

Was this how the girls Bucky flirted with felt? All flustered, their hearts beating erratically, their minds struggling to come up with something to say back?

"Um, thank you," she said lamely as the song changed. The follow-up was fast-paced and she felt compelled to turn the volume down. She wanted to hear her thoughts now. "And I'm sorry, too . . . that things aren't good for you. Also, sorry for being a little bitchy last night."

"I deserved it. I made us leave twelve hours late. And I forwent telling you about my inability to drive stick."

She nodded, her mouth twitching. "You did. Nice usage of the word  _forwent_ , by the way."

"Thanks," he said, and she didn't need to be looking at him to know he was smiling.

DC bustled with its usual heavy traffic. Darcy weaved through the familiar streets, going where Bucky led. She had switched off the GPS when they crossed into the city. After sitting at red lights for nearly an hour, they entered a part of DC Darcy did not know existed. Quiet streets. Bare trees standing tall in front of the biggest houses she had ever seen. Luxury cars in driveways. Perfectly manicured gardens. No trash littering the sidewalks. No homeless people.

Bucky directed her quietly. She sensed him close off a bit the further into the Georgetown neighbourhood they got. He wasn't one to boast about his family's wealth, though she knew he came from a long line of tycoons. What type of tycoons, she had no clue. Judging by the size of the houses, Darcy guessed they were high class drug lords running the whole of the US's opioid trade.

Finally, he told her to stop outside of a giant, L-shaped, creme-coloured house with an American flag waving proudly outside the front door. There were so many windows. Decorative ivy curled up the sides of the house, giving it a woodsy feel.

Darcy faced her companion. He was watching the house. She saw what he was looking at. A figure stood just inside the door. An older man. Bucky's father, judging by the striking similarities in their facial features. Only this guy looked like he  _never_  smiled.

Silently, Bucky exited the car and grabbed his things from the backseat. He placed his bags on the brick driveway, coming around to her side and tapping on the window.

She was surprised, but rolled down her window all the same. "Miss me already?" she said as he bent down and crossed his arms to rest on the trim.

Their faces had never been this close. His smiling mouth was no more than five inches from hers. She saw the shadow of stubble breaking through his skin. The dent in his chin big enough for the pad of her pinky finger. The lines around his mouth from his excessive smiling.

If she so desired, she could easily grab his neck and kiss him.

But she didn't desire that.

Christ, Martha must have gotten inside of her head.

"Thanks again for the ride," he said, his blue eyes warm. A nice balance between the coldness from the car journey and the blazing heat from last night. "I'll see you when it comes time to head back, yeah? Bright an early, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Please do. You've got my number. Let me know when you're on your way. And hey," he said, standing up before she wanted him to, "maybe you can show me your place in the city. It's only fair."

"Don't count on it!" she called as he started walking towards the disgruntled looking man.

Bucky smiled at her one last time before disappearing inside of the mansion. The second he entered, his father cupped a fierce hand on Bucky's neck and the two walked out of her sight.

An uneasy feeling settled in Darcy's stomach. If things weren't going well at school, she imagined Bucky's father wasn't the type of man to sit with his son and try understanding the issues. He struck her as the type to yell and pressure and cry disappointment until Bucky broke.

Maybe she would take him up on her offer to see her side of the city. Get his mind off of whatever the hell it was that was bothering him. Rescue him from his father's hands. As his tutor, it was her job to help.

Punching her address into the GPS, Darcy pulled away from the wealthy neighbourhood, Bucky's words playing in her ear.

 _It's only fair_.


	3. love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this story is coming to a close. I have switched the time frame - they are now on winter break, not Thanksgiving break, and this last chapter takes place on New Year's Eve.
> 
> I want to apologise for taking such a long time to get this to you all. School got in the way, then I lost my story outline. But, you have been very supportive, and for that I thank you.
> 
> I will be responding to reviews (haven't done that in a while!), and I'm hoping to get a couple more stories out before I have to go back to school.
> 
> Enjoy!

** * * * **

_ lay us down _

_ we're in love _

** * * * **

Everybody inside the writing lab went still the day Bucky Barnes walked inside, announcing he needed a tutor. The guy had made a name for himself in the two months since his arrival. Which wasn’t difficult at a school with less than fifteen-thousand students, but the smug eighteen-year-old had risen in the ranks quicker than the upperclassmen expected. The wealthy, pretty people loved him. He was basically their ruler. A young king nobody was brave enough to usurp. 

“I need a tutor,” he said after bursting dramatically through the glass door. The whole room was made of glass. They were smack dab in the middle of the biggest library on campus where everyone could see the students crying over their assignments. Bucky approached the front desk and said, “Is there anyone here willing to help me?”

There was a scrambling of papers as the workers tried putting their name in some metaphorical hat, crossing their fingers and toes that Bucky would pick them, but Darcy stood up from her desk resolutely and walked forward, her eyes already mid-roll. She squeezed past the groupies and tapped his knit sweater clad arm. He looked down at her, eyebrows raised like he’d never seen someone so short.

“Professor Coulson called me,” she said to him, still annoyed at the man for making her do this. “He’s requested I help you.” 

His blue eyes scanned her again as the disgruntled crowd around them slowly trickled away. “Didn’t I see you at my orientation?”

He had done. She saw him too. He was hard to miss. “Maybe,” she said. 

“So, that would make you a freshman?”

“It would.”

And then it happened. That stupid, condescending half-smile tugged playfully at his lips, and in that moment she decided she would hate this guy for the rest of her days. “How are you supposed to help me? You’re probably in the same exact boat as me.”

“Are you kidding?” she asked, sticky anger rising in her throat. 

“Not at all. I was expecting someone with more . . . experience.”

“Look, man,” Darcy said, reddening, “I don’t want to be the one in charge of helping you, but Professor Coulson asked me specifically. He said no one else was allowed to go near you. So, unless you’d rather continue failing, suck it up and let me help.”

Bucky looked, for a moment, like he was going to complain. Maybe call up his dad and request he lodge a complaint with the school. But he didn’t. His well-travelled eyes locked with Darcy’s and he sighed, defeated. 

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay.” Darcy glared momentarily at her fellow tutors, warning them to stop staring. She turned and headed to her desk. Bucky followed behind. He took the seat directly beside her, the one usually reserved for other workers, but she was already too tired to tell him to sit somewhere else. Somewhere further away. Folding her hands, she glanced at his backpack. “I assume you’ve brought me something to look at?” 

“Erm, yeah,” he said, plopping the heavy thing on his lap and unzipping it. He shuffled a few things around. Pulling out a folder, he laid it on the desk and returned his bag to the floor. “I’ve got to warn you,” he said, and it was probably the only time Darcy had ever seen Bucky Barnes look nervous, “it’s not pretty.”

A flash of very unwelcome sympathy raided Darcy. “I’d be surprised if it was. My whole job here is to make ugly things pretty. It doesn’t work if they already come in a 10.”

“Right,” Bucky said, shaking his head, still looking unsure of himself. “Yeah. That makes sense.” 

Bucky opened the folder. The first piece of paper was adorned with a giant, circled _F_ like in the movies. She recognised Coulson’s handwriting. _The Writing Centre is your friend, Mr. Barnes. I suggest you take full advantage lest you fail this course_.

Ouch. 

Red markings dotted the page. Several sentences were either crossed out or had question marks next to them. Darcy read the first paragraph and understood immediately why Coulson had sounded so urgent on the phone the day before. If this was Bucky Barnes’s assignment for what she considered the easiest English course the school offered, what would happen when he needed to pick something more advanced? And what did his papers for his other classes look like? 

They got started almost immediately. She kept having to grab at his attention by snapping her fingers in his face or tugging his sleeve. Their session lasted a whole half-hour longer than it was meant to, mostly due to how easily Bucky got distracted by pretty girls or fellow rich boys drifting in and out of the room. Her sympathy for his situation dissipated as quickly as it had appeared and she went back to being assured of her eternal hatred for him. 

The essay got cleaned up, though. Nicely. He clearly was anxious about it, but he covered that up with his on-brand dickish behaviour. 

Back then, after he left, Darcy had not an inkling their tutoring relationship would last. She thought she would never see Bucky in that glass room again. That it was a one time, last resort thing. But he kept coming back. Week after week, he booked her for two hours each Friday, and she would stare at his poorly written essays and snap her fingers in his face and get him the grades he needed to scrape by. 

Over time, the writing got better. Marginally. He still appeared to struggle, but he had yet to be thrown out of school for GPA-related reasons, and now that they only had one more semester, it looked like he was on his way to graduation. Darcy had no doubt he would still be taking her precious Friday slot those final months, but, and it was weird to think, she would find the lab quiet and dead if he didn’t. 

And that was when Darcy realised it, the morning of New Year’s Eve, with a flurry blowing snowflakes outside her bedroom window—she was going to _miss_ Bucky fucking Barnes come graduation. It was this sudden realisation that prompted her to message him, asking if he, on the off chance, was free that night. Her folks had already decided they were going to some party she had no desire to tag along to and she wasn’t immune to the cliché that ringing in the new year alone was sad and pathetic. 

She hadn’t expected him to respond. But then her phone chimed, not two minutes after she sent the original text. 

She hadn’t expected him to say _yes_. But then she checked the message and it said _yes_.

Well, it said _yes. you know, I knew you wouldnt be abel to stay away all brake long._

**Wouldn’t**. **Able**. **Break**. **You need to capitalise the first letter of a new sentence** , she had messaged, smiling despite the little voice in her head asking her what the fuck she was doing asking if Bucky fucking Barnes was available for a night on the town with her.

_youre not on the clock, darce. no correcting my spelling/grammer._

Darcy told him with shaking fingers—she didn’t know why they were shaking, they just were, and her brain was too muddled with questions to bother finding the source—to meet her outside the Lincoln Theatre, the old-fashioned theatre that had been turned into a music venue for touring artists. She had a plan in mind for the evening, but she didn’t want to let him know, which was clearly bugging him. He kept pinging her phone with incorrect guesses. 

He found her in the alleyway between the theatre and Ben’s Chili Bowl. The sun had set hours ago, and she was freezing despite wearing her black fluffy coat overtop the sparkling dress she felt perfectly represented New Year’s Eve, but the streetlights lining the alley bathed the motorbike thru road in soft yellow. It was enough that Darcy could still see the stunning mural of the powerful Black visionaries, and her focus was on them when she heard Bucky’s footsteps approaching her from the right. 

“Now here’s something I never thought I’d see,” he said as he got closer, his breath blowing out like a cloud of yellow smoke. Darcy’s eyes were gearing up to roll. “Darcy Lewis in the wilds of Washington DC.”

Once her eyes completed a full circle, Darcy focused on the tall man before her, wrapped neatly in a stylish, glistening leather jacket and blue scarf she knew was the perfect colour to bring out all the different shades of his eyes. Her gaze drifted up to his face. Darcy frowned, staring at the space where his hair used to gather at his shoulders. It had been chopped. Not completely, but a very noticeable amount. The cut looked military-grade. 

She had been saying to him for weeks that he needed a trim, but she didn’t think he’d go this far. In the years since they met, his hair had never been this short. 

“It’s still me,” he said, running his fingers through the more-on-top strands as if he could hear her thoughts. He smiled that half-smile, but it was weak. “Dad said the long hair would hinder my opportunities, so he made me lob it off.” His voice tightened at the mention of his father.

“Oh. It doesn’t look bad. It just caught me off guard.”

Bucky nodded, the half-smile stretching. He glanced around. “So, are we going to be spending the night in this lovely alleyway? Is this when you finally get to murder me after more than three years of suffering through my shit?”

“And here I was,” Darcy said flatly, “thinking I had you fooled.”

Taking a step closer to her that Darcy was oddly hyperaware of, Bucky, illuminated in yellow, said, “No, I’ve always got you figured out. You can’t hide anything from me.” 

There was an intensity behind the words that split through Darcy’s frozen skin. She had the urge to shiver, to shake out the weird feeling crowding her blood. 

For a moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say in response. It was a strange recurrence, something that had started last month at the creepy hotel. She stood there, her brain trying to piece together some semblance of a comeback.

“Not even my utter disdain for you?” she said after too much time had passed for it to be thought of as funny. 

“You could never even attempt to hide that.” He was quicker on the trigger than her. Which made sense—he was so used to girls losing their cool around him. It didn’t matter that it was Darcy, the girl who had vowed to hate him forever. 

Flexing her fingers—they were numb and aching—Darcy scanned the ground, hoping to recollect her dignity, and stepped away from the wall, her focus now on getting the two of them to their destination. “Follow me, Nick Marshall.”

Bucky fell into step beside her. “Nick who?”

“Nick Marshall,” she restated, taking in the busy New Year’s Eve crowds lining the sidewalks outside DC’s famous joints. Everyone was happy. Drunk and happy. “Mel Gibson’s misogynistic mindreader character from _What Women Want_.”

“Don’t you hate Mel Gibson?”

So it wasn’t all talk. He really did have her figured out. He listened when she spoke about things that had nothing to do with his horrendous grammatical mistakes. 

“I do,” she said, having to reach out and tug on Bucky’s sleeve to stop him from crossing the road without looking. “I watched the movie before I knew what an asshole he is.”

“And when you call me Nick Marshall, does that mean you think of me as misogynistic?” he asked.

Darcy stepped into the clear road. They were nearly there. “I mean, not necessarily. But you don’t exactly have the greatest track record with girls.”

“I have an excellent track record with girls.”

Darcy’s eyes rolled all on their own. “That’s not what I meant. I distinctly remember hearing about this one time freshman year when you were stringing along three— _three_ —different girls, and none of them knew until you screwed up your scheduling.”

“Wow, yeah, I forgot about that,” he said. At least he sounded somewhat remorseful.

“I can assure you they haven’t.”

Quietness spread between them until Darcy paused outside their destination. There was hardly anyone around, and why should there be. To the untrained eye, Tony’s Deli looked like any other Italian diner. There were dozens of those in the city.

But Darcy knew a secret. 

“You’ve taken me to a deli? What kind of a place is this to spend New Year’s Eve?”

“Trust me,” Darcy said, pushing through the door. 

Inside, a red light flashed above a steel refrigerator door. Vis waved at her from behind the counter, nodding when she pointed to the light. Bucky voiced his confusion as he followed her to the door, but she ignored him. He’d figure it all out soon enough.

Darcy pulled the handle up. The rubber lining of the door hissed. Swinging it wide, Bucky hot on her heels, Darcy stepped over the threshold and into Expo. 

It was a whole other world through the doorway. Darcy always felt like Lucy Pevensie stepping out of War-era England and into Narnia when she came here.

The music hit her first. Jazz tunes coming from the stage assaulted her ears, but she pushed onward, minutely aware that Bucky had grabbed her wrist. She didn’t mind. There were so many people cramped inside, they would surely get separated otherwise. Above their heads, the sparkling chandelier glistened, casting a muted rosy glow over everything and everyone. Each of the plush sofas lining the walls were full and the dance floor pulsed as people danced the Charleston as if this truly was the Jazz Age.

“What is this place?” Bucky shouted.

“A speakeasy. Hidden bar. I’m surprised you haven’t been here before. It seems like the rich boy place to go.”

“I go to actual nightclubs,” he said, stumbling behind her as she shot for a free space that had opened on the sofa nearest the toilets.

They sat down. Really, there was only room for one full-sized person, and Darcy found that their thighs pressed together. No amount of wiggling to the right separated them. Bucky’s mouth was close to her ear. Hot breath, scented like his favourite mint chewing gum, brushed against her face. 

She kept telling herself to not make any sudden movements. Bucky sat this close to her all of the time. It was one of the things that annoyed her the most about him—he had no perception of personal space. Something was different tonight. Her body was reacting strangely. Chalking it up to the general weirdness of the night—this marked the first time they were together outside of the writing lab (if one didn’t count the awful car trip, which Darcy didn’t—that was its own blip in time), she felt sentimental about their approaching final semester (Darcy never got sentimental), and the atmosphere of the bar (low lights, the air supply so filled with alcohol Darcy swore she was getting drunk just by breathing)—Darcy ignored the urge to flee.

“How do we get drinks in here?” he posed, his blue eyes, glowing like those phosphorescent algae things she had seen in nature documentaries, zigzagging around the packed room.

Darcy half-rose, more than willing to barge through the crowd to get to the bar. “Up front. I’ll grab them,” she yelled, standing fully and looking back at him. “What do you want?”

The smirk returned. He cocked his head to the side. “Surprise me,” he said.

Darcy’s eyes turned over. Walking to the bar, she unzipped her coat and waited for the busy barmen to notice her, which didn’t take very long. No clothing item save for a turtleneck hid Darcy’s cleavage, and as much as she wished bartenders, along with the rest of the world, were evolving, a large chest still got first pick. 

She grabbed a gin and tonic for herself and a Julian for Bucky. The man behind the bar whipped up the order quickly, his stare lingering on Darcy for longer than she appreciated. She glowered pointedly at him and departed, careful not to spill anything on her way back to the sofa. 

“What is this?” Bucky asked after he took a sip. Another person had left the sofa, leaving more room for her. None of Darcy touched any of Bucky when she sat. 

“It’s got orange in it,” she explained, fully taking off her coat. Bucky loved orange. “And sugar.” He also loved sugar, though she rarely witnessed him consuming it. 

He nodded. “I like it.”

Darcy’s lips twitched. She felt like a dog who had just done some trick she had been previously aware she was capable of. “Good.”

At the one party she had attended up in Chicago, Bucky Barnes got so wasted he fell over the banister at the frat house. Luckily, mattresses coated the floor—Darcy left too early to find out why—so he didn’t injure himself. He shot right back up and carried on partying. But that was the day Darcy decided she would always be mindful of her alcohol consumption. She never thought Bucky, while he still ruled the party scene, would follow suit, but as midnight neared, both of them were sipping the same drink they got when they first arrived. 

So, when Bucky leaned down and again pressed his mouth to her ear, she knew the erratic panting wasn’t alcohol-induced.

“I need to apologise,” he said heavily.

Millions of thoughts entered Darcy’s head. Had this whole evening been some 90’s teen rom-com set up? Was he going to humiliate her, ruin whatever reputation she had back in Chicago? Had he been drinking more than she realised and was moments away from vomiting in her hair? 

“Okay,” she said, wary. “For what, exactly?”

“For making us leave Chicago late.”

Surprised, Darcy turned her head, nearly knocking her forehead with Bucky’s. She lowered her eyebrows. “I already forgave you for that. You said things weren’t going well, and I know how that feels. You don’t need to apologise anymore.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, but as he started speaking the music switched to a louder track that barely resembled jazz. His words didn’t reach Darcy.

“What?” she yelled. She pointed to her ear. “I can’t hear you!”

Shutting his mouth, Bucky put his drink down and swiftly stood, dragging Darcy up with him. He walked towards the toilets, fiddling with the handles until he found an open stall. Darcy, more confused than she ever had been, deposited her drink on a nearby table and followed him inside. The colour scheme matched the deli portion of Tony’s. Checkered floor, muted red and black walls, and the door was painted silver on the inside.

The door clicked, successfully shutting out all of the Expo’s noises. Bucky locked it and went to the sink. He stared at her through the mirror. Turning, he rested against the basin. 

“Is this the part of the night when you murder me?” Darcy said, leaning against the door. 

“You should’ve taken your chance to off me back at Ben’s,” he said with a barely noticeable flutter of his mouth. 

Alright, so he was back to being upset. Darcy still had no way of knowing how to help. Did she have to wait like she had done on the last leg of their car journey? 

Why did she do this to herself? Going out was a horrible idea, and inviting Debbie Downer was an even worse one. 

Bucky ran both of his hands down his face. “I might not graduate,” he said abruptly. Before Darcy could ask him to elaborate, he continued, “You’ve been such a big help, Darce, getting me through all of my writing courses. I honestly think they would have kicked me out sooner if it weren’t for you”—

—“They’re kicking you out?” Darcy gasped in disbelief, cutting him off.

“Not yet,” he said, “but they’re talking about it. I’ve completed all of my requirements except one, and it’s a course I’ve already failed once, so if I don’t pass it this semester . . .” Eyes lowered, Bucky let himself trail off.

“Then you don’t graduate,” Darcy finished, feeling as if a weight had been inserted into her chest.

“It’s worse than that. There’s no second, second chance. I’m out of the school if I don’t pass. My GPA is shit. It’s never recovered from my first year. And if I don’t graduate out of Chicago . . . my dad has already said he won’t pay for any other school. I either graduate this coming semester, or I never get my degree. From anywhere.” He said all of this in a rush, his hands moving about like the pieces of a windmill. Each of his breaths came out quicker than the last until, by the end, he was fighting for air. 

Darcy, as was the new normal when she was with Bucky fucking Barnes, stood there speechless. 

“All the big schmucks in charge were telling me this while you were waiting for me,” he disclosed, his eyes turning a watery shade of blue. “After they let me go, my dad called and he shouted at me for I don’t even know how long. I lost track of the hour. By the time he hung up on me, it was nearly 8. I found you as soon as I could, but I felt—and feel—really shitty about making you wait and then not explaining why.”

People weren’t assholes for no reason. Darcy understood this well enough. It was shoved down her throat in enough after school specials. Outside forces influenced behaviour, especially teenage behaviour. And as much as she was loath to admit it, Darcy had to assume part of the reason Bucky Barnes acted the way he did—entitled, uncaring, and a tireless flirt—was because of his father. 

She had never met the man, but seeing him when she dropped Bucky off gave her a weird feeling. A weird _bad_ feeling. 

Finding her voice, Darcy asked, “Is that why you agreed to come out tonight?”

“To apologise to you?” Bucky frowned. “No. To be honest”—

Someone banged on the door. Darcy swallowed a scream. She and Bucky whipped their heads to the front of the bathroom. 

“Get out of there, man! It’s three fucking minutes to midnight, and if I’m not back in time, my date said she’s gonna find someone else to kiss!”

Shit. She had forgotten about that part of New Year’s Eve. Welcoming the brand new year with a kiss. 

Again, Darcy questioned her decision to ask Bucky out this evening in particular. Was it some Freudian slip? Deep down, did she actually, secretly want to make out with Bucky fucking Barnes? 

Darcy was first out of the bathroom. The swaying man who had interrupted Bucky gave them a smug look before he went inside that made Darcy’s face scrunch and her flesh crawl. Her mind buzzed. Maybe it was the alcohol, but she was convinced it was the burgeoning discernment that she, Darcy Lewis, was just like the rest of the girls that attended her school. She wanted Bucky.

And it made sense if she thought about it, which she didn’t want to, but the thoughts were dropping over her head like giant pieces of hail and she couldn’t ignore them. 

Their relationship had started off rocky. Very, very rocky. It took her a long time to not dread her approaching appointments with him. But come their second year, she forgot to shudder the moment he walked inside the room. Their arguments grew less vitriolic and more playful. She started seeing inside of his mind. And maybe, just maybe, she liked what she saw. 

Goddammit. 

Fuck this bullshit. Who gave her the right to become this big of a cliché?

Darcy’s heart galloped in her chest. Hard and fast, it slammed into her ribs. There were too many people huddled in Expo’s. Everyone was standing and facing the giant TV displaying the ball drop. 

“Where are you going?”

Someone grabbed her arm and twisted her around. Bucky. His face was right in front of hers, sweaty and handsome. 

She tried to say something, anything, but her voice was dead.

“That guy,” Bucky cried, “cut me off.”

“What do you mean?” she choked out. All she wanted was for him to let her go. Or maybe all she wanted was for him to _never_ let go. Like Jack from _Titanic_ , because apparently her life was a movie now. 

Bucky got closer. The music switched off and was replaced by Ryan Seacrest announcing three minutes to midnight. 

“I didn’t get to tell you why I agreed to go out with you tonight!” As she registered what he was saying, Darcy tried pulling away, but he held tighter. “Please, Darcy, just listen. I came here with you because I really, really wanted to. I had three other invites for parties tonight, but the second I got your text, I knew where I would be come midnight.” 

“No,” she yelped, “no, no, no. This doesn’t make any sense.”

The bastard had the gall to laugh. “What doesn’t make any sense? That I’d want to be with you? Darcy, for eight months out of the year, I am with you every single Friday evening. I see you more than I see most of my friends! Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“But we hate each other! You said so yourself at the creepy hotel.” She had agreed with him then. Tonight, everything was different. Everything was so goddamned confusing.

Bucky’s grip travelled down to her hand. His fingers slid between hers as a smile stretched his face. “I was in a bad mood that night. And besides, isn’t it easier to pretend to hate something than admit you might like it?” he said. Ryan Seacrest was back. The countdown to midnight began and a panicked look overtook Bucky. 

“Darcy Lewis,” he said, taking her other hand. She gulped. Sweat gathered at her palms. “I like you. I’m not scared to say it. And I think that you like me too. I think that’s why you put up with me. I think that’s why you asked me out tonight.” He was laughing like a mad thing at this point, and Darcy had joined in mostly out of bewilderment that Bucky Barnes was confessing to her of all people his true feelings. 

“So,” he unstuck their fingers and moved one of his hands to the side of her face. The other went to her back. Hers went automatically under his jacket to his hips.

“So,” she responded, dumbstruck. By a boy. By Bucky fucking Barnes. 

Blue eyes bright, Bucky said, “It’s ten seconds to midnight.”

“So it is,” she admitted, ignoring the dozens of people chanting along with Ryan as the ball descended. 

“Can I kiss you?” he said.

Darcy cracked a smile. “You’re asking?”

“Well, yeah, it’s the right thing to do, especially in the wake of”—

Screams and the popping of champagne bottles silenced Bucky. As Seacrest reached zero, Darcy’s grip on Bucky’s shirt strengthened. She pulled him forward and got on her tiptoes.

His lips were soft and warm and wet, and he tasted like whiskey-laced candied oranges.

*** * ***  


There was a man waiting for her as she pulled up to the creme-coloured house. The American flag out front waved mightily in the cold January breeze. Several suitcases and bags laid at his feet, and his body was wrapped in a fluffy coat. But he smiled wide when he caught sight of her, and that made Darcy smile back, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold front wracking her body. 

She put the car in park and popped the boot, getting out of the car to help. 

“Did you really have this much stuff on our way down?” Darcy asked, hauling a few of the smaller items. 

Bucky reached for the big bags. “No. I just don’t know if I’ll be welcomed back when the school inevitably kicks me out, so I’m coming back prepared.”

Straightening, Darcy walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She looked up. “They’re not going to get rid of you,” she promised. “We’ll work extra hard to make sure you pass.”

“So long as you have enough time to focus on your own schoolwork,” he said, his arms coming down on her shoulders. 

He leaned down and kissed her once, a fleeting thing that left her wanting more, but she was sure there were security cameras everywhere and she would rather not have Mr. Barnes watch her make out with his son. 

Uncoiling themselves, they finished packing the car before settling inside and starting the car. Darcy ignored the eeriness of this picture—her and Bucky Barnes happily driving off to their final semester as undergrads. She ignored the eeriness of wanting to pull over and kiss him until she couldn’t feel her mouth. 

The next few months were going to be filled with eeriness. First, they were going to have to explain themselves to their friends. Which was going to be difficult, because Darcy still didn’t understand what was happening herself three weeks past New Year's, and she was one part of this pair. Then, they were going to have to balance schoolwork and each other. And then figure out if this was something that could last post-graduation—

“I really think I can handle driving halfway,” Bucky said, pulling Darcy from her reverie. 

Pausing the overwhelming thoughts battling for her attention, Darcy tried not to laugh. “You’ve had three lessons and stalled multiple times during those lessons. I’m not taking any chances. You’ll stay right where you are the whole way.”

“Okay,” he said thoughtfully, “but what if I’m only pretending to be bad so you’ll keep giving me lessons?”

“You’re not fooling me, Buck,” she said, peeking at his handsome face out the corner of her eye. He was pouting. “Maybe you’ll be ready by spring break.”

“Fine,” he huffed, switching on some music. “But I’m holding you to that. I get to drive us home for spring break.”


End file.
